


Breathe

by dragonwriter24cmf



Category: NCIS
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Papa Bear Jethro Gibbs, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:34:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21895237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonwriter24cmf/pseuds/dragonwriter24cmf
Summary: Tony's lungs are mostly recovered from the Plague, but cold and exercise can still irritate them. He's always tried to hide it, but this time around, someone is there to help.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 126





	Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Characters are not mine.

**Breathe**

Tony stifled a cough, grimacing at the dull ache in his midsection. He snuck a look over his computer, to see if Ziva was occupied, then raised a hand to rub his chest.

They'd had a rough case, including a four block chase when the suspect they were after had bolted. Tony turned his head to look at the weather outside. It was typical March weather, cold and drizzly. Not quite raining, just the gray mist that got into everything. Including his lungs.

He rubbed his chest again, trying not to make a face. Ever since he'd had the plague, he'd had trouble with his chest. He'd gone to a doctor, on his own time. He'd been relieved to hear he didn't have asthma, but he'd been warned of the damage to his lung capacity, and the fact that severe exertion, or congestion and condensation, could affect his breathing. Also that the cold would tighten his chest muscles, inhibiting his breathing as well.

He hadn't thought about it, when Gibbs had gone bolting down the street after their suspect. He'd just gone after them. But afterward, he'd become conscious of the tickling feeling in his chest, the tightness and ache there. He'd managed to stifle the coughs on the ride back, joking about inhaling the mist, but it wasn't going away like he'd hoped. The ache was getting worse, and he was having more difficulty controlling the coughing.

“DiNozzo.” Gibbs' voice snapped him out of his thoughts. He looked up to see the team leader staring at him. “You got the info I told you to find?”

That recalled his mind to the task he was supposed to be working on. The suspect they'd chased had claimed an alibi. He glanced at his computer screen. “Not quite Boss.”

“Then stop staring into space. I told you, I want that information as soon as possible.”

“On it, Boss.” With effort, he turned his mind back to his work, and tried to ignore the tension in his chest.

Ten minutes later, he had his answer. He stood. “Boss.”

The movement caught him, the sudden change in position somehow catching his body off-guard. He felt the muscles in his chest tighten, the tickling ache suddenly expanding. It took him only a second to realize that he was about to have a major coughing fit, one of his worst.

He was aware of Gibbs' 'I'm waiting' look, and of McGee and Ziva staring at him, waiting for his report. And aware of the fact that he didn't want any of them to see what was about to happen. He was equally aware that he couldn't stop this one.

He dropped the remote for the plasma screen onto his desk. “ 'Scuse me Boss.” then he turned, and headed for the bathroom as fast as he could move without running. He was aware of his team-mate's startled stares, and the irritability, if not annoyance in Gibbs, but even that was preferable to the horrified, pitying looks he was sure they'd give him if he started hacking in the squad-room.

The movement exacerbated his condition. He barely managed to get into the restroom before the first cough hit, then into a stall before the second one. There wasn't any time or energy left to shut or lock the door as the fit overcame him. He settled for staggering sideways, out of direct line of sight, as he continued choking.

His earlier efforts at suppressing the whole thing came back with a vengeance, the force of the spasms almost doubling him over. After thirty seconds, he was hurting. After a minute, he felt, dizzy, shaky, his head throbbing. He tried to shift, to find a more stable position than leaning against the wall of the stall.

It was a mistake, he was too off-balance and the movement sent him stumbling, sliding sideways for one heart-stopping second before he began to topple toward the tiled floor. He tried to throw out a hand to stop his fall, but another hard cough wracked his frame, doubling him up as he lost his balance completely.

Tony flinched, then almost gasped in surprise as hands caught him, stopping his fall, steadying him. His eyes had shut from the force of the coughing fits, and he couldn't manage more than a squint as more coughing shook through him. All he was aware of were strong hands, holding his arms. Then someone's arms were around him, supporting him, guiding him backward to sit on the top of the toilet. He felt the warmth of another body, standing beside him. The person let him go, but one hand continued to rub his back, almost gently, attempting to soothe the spasming muscles.

The contact startled him. Instinctively, he tried to suppress the coughing, to pull away, but it only tightened up his chest and made breathing impossible. But whoever it was had caught him supported him again, arms catching him. “Breathe. Just relax and breathe, DiNozzo.”

He felt himself wincing inside at the familiar voice, stern and commanding, but also warm and oddly gentle. But even as he flinched with embarrassment, his body was reacting to the command in that voice, relaxing into the warm, calloused hands that held his shaking body partially upright. His back muscles began to unlock under the gentle ministrations of the hand rubbing it, and despite the pain, the wracking, choking violence of the fit began to ease. 

Finally, after what felt like forever, though his internal clock said it was only a little more than five minutes, the coughing eased off, slowed to an irregular, occasional hack. Tony grimaced. His chest hurt, his back hurt, his throat felt rubbed raw, and his head was aching from the force of the spasms. He swallowed, to ease the pain in his throat so he could talk, and looked up at his supporter.

Gibbs was beside him, staring at him with an expression of both concern and possibly anger written onto his face. The older man had somehow managed to wedge himself in a kneeling position next to him in the stall. As Tony looked up, he felt the hand, Gibbs' hand, on his back stop moving though it continued to provide support and comfort.

Tony swallowed again, feeling a rush of embarrassment, almost humiliation. Of all the people who could have seen him, he'd almost have preferred McGee. “Hey Boss...”

“DiNozzo.” Gibbs' voice was low, but hard. “What the hell is going on?”

“Just a...” Tony paused and coughed a couple more times. “Just a little coughing spell, Boss. I'm good.” He coughed again.

“Little, DiNozzo?” Gibbs was almost glaring at him. “Damn it, I've seen potential drowning victims who hacked less. What's wrong with you?” Blue eyes searched his, concern in their depths. “You got pneumonia again?”

Tony swallowed. He hadn't realized that Gibbs might fear the worst. “No Boss.” he swallowed again, then decided to tell the truth. Better to explain everything to Gibbs, than to play twenty questions with him. It would frazzle his nerves, and annoy the older man, who would probably still find out.

Gibbs stared at him, clearly waiting for an explanation. Tony took another breath, swallowed a bit of the dryness in his throat, and spoke. “It's not pneumonia. It's just, ever since that one time, you know, where I got the plague and all...”

“I remember.” Gibbs cut him off before he could ramble too much.

“Well, with the damage and everything, the doctors warned me that sometimes certain conditions could, well, you know, irritate my lungs a bit.”

Gibbs raised an eyebrow. “Certain conditions?”

Tony nodded. “Exercise, after a point, cold.” He swallowed again. “Damp...things like that.”

“You mean, a day like today.” Gibbs was staring at him.

“Um...yeah, Boss.” Tony took another breath, and looked away from the blue eyes. “I've been working to increase my stamina and everything, but every so often it just catches up with me like this.”

Gibbs swore again. “How long, has this been giving you trouble? Today.”

He didn't want to answer, but he knew better than to lie to Gibbs. “Since we chased that suspect, Boss.”

The tight, concerned half-glare on Gibbs' face hardened into a full one, lips compressing with anger, but also something else. Tony recognized the expression. The one Gibbs had given him when he was plague touched. The one he gave his team when he was worried for them. He would have said fretting, if it had been anyone other than Gibbs.

Tony swallowed again, his throat drying out for a reason other than his coughing fits. He didn't like seeing that look in Gibbs' eyes. Not for any member of the team, especially not him. “Um...Boss, I'm really okay now...” Another tickle hit his throat, and he coughed again, caught by surprise.

Gibbs caught him, held him. “Yeah, I can see that.” His tone was dry, full of irony, but also suppressed...anger? Disappointment?

Tony got his breathing back under control. “Boss, I...”

“Why the hell didn't you say anything?” Gibbs interrupted him, voice sharp with that note of disapproval and faint hurt.

Tony swallowed. “Didn't want to talk about it in front of Ziva and McGee.”

“Then why didn't you ask to speak to me privately? Hell, DiNozzo...it's my job to keep my team in condition. If you were having problems, you should have let me know.” Gibbs sounded upset, and looking sideways into his face, Tony could see the crease of frustration on his brow and the corners of his mouth. Anger at himself, and at Tony, for the situation.

Tony took a breath, and tried to speak calmly. “Didn't think it was going to be this much trouble, Boss.” He looked away from that tense profile for a moment, then back. “I know this case has been a rough one, figured you didn't need any more distractions or problems.”

Gibbs' mouth compressed, jaw tensing, but he didn't say anything for a moment. Then he ran a hand through his silver hair, frowning, and when he looked at Tony, his eyes were both stern and full of regret. “You're right. I should have noticed sooner.”

Tony winced. That hadn't been what he'd meant, though if he thought about it, he had wondered why Gibbs hadn't noticed. The man was so sharp about everything else.

He started to speak, but Gibbs rose from his position, both of them wincing as his knee cracked. Then he reached down, and pulled Tony to his feet. “Go see Ducky.”

Tony grimaced. “Boss, I really don't think that's...” Another spell of coughing caught him, sharp enough that he found himself leaning into Gibbs after it was over. He swallowed back the dryness and bile, looked up into the stern expression. “Okay, so...Ducky.” He took as deep a breath as he could manage, without setting off another fit, then spoke softly. “You know, I really don't want Probie or Ziva to hear about this.” He made a face. “McGee will get all hovery and twitchy, and Ziva will get all nosy and kind of mother-hen-ish. It's a little creepy.” 

“You let me handle McGee and Ziva. Get down to Ducky, let him look you over. And don't leave till I come down. Understood?” Gibbs' was glaring at him.

Tony nodded. Gibbs was using the full force of his team leader/father tone, the one that invited absolutely no argument. “Right. Got it, Boss.”

Gibbs studied him a moment, then let go and jerked his head sideways. “Come on. Let's go.”

Tony took two steps, then flinched as Gibbs' hand whacked him across the back of the head. He turned, to find Gibbs regarding him with a stern look. “That's for not telling me sooner. You got a problem like that again, you come to me.”

“Yes, Boss.” Tony nodded.

Gibbs went with him to the door, then stepped out ahead of him. Tony started to follow behind, and saw the subtle signal of the older man's hand. _Stop._ _Wait_. He paused, then realized what was going on. Gibbs was going to run distraction and interference, to keep the other two from looking for him. He paused obediently, waiting. Finally, about a minute later, he guessed the boss would have McGee and Ziva distracted, and made his way out of the restroom and down the hall to the elevator.

He made it without incident, then hit the button for Ducky's floor. The ride down was uneventful, but the cooler air and smell of Autopsy made his chest ache again, setting up a warning buzz of sorts in his lungs.

Ducky was there, and looked up as the door opened. Mercifully, Palmer was absent, probably running samples to Abby. As he walked in, Ducky rose from his desk. “Ah, Anthony. What can I do for you?”

Tony swallowed. “Gibbs sent me.”

The tiniest of frowns creased the ME's face. “Well, I've already given Jethro my initial Autopsy report for your victim. I haven't got anything else to tell him until the results come back from Abby.”

“I know. It's not that. It's...” The tickling feeling in his lungs erupted into another coughing spell, mercifully brief, but painful enough, given the way his chest and throat already felt.

“I believe I see what the problem is. Very well.” Ducky moved forward, and gestured to a table. “Sit down, and let me have a look at you.”

Tony nodded, and moved to sit on one of the Autopsy tables.

Ducky gestured for him to open his shirt. “So then, how long have you been having these coughing fits?”

Tony swallowed. “Today. We had to chase a guy. I think the damp got into my lungs a little. After we came back, I started coughing. I told Gibbs it wasn't a big deal, but...he doesn't agree.” he winced as the cold stethoscope touched his chest. He tried another tactic. “It's only been a few hours. Could just be the weather.”

“My dear Anthony.” Ducky looked up from his examination. “A case of coughing like that is never nothing, especially for one with your medical history. With the damage you've been through, even a cold that most people would consider mild could have severe repercussions. Never mind the effects if you were to catch a more serious illness, such as the flu or, God help you, pneumonia.”

“I took my vaccinations. Plus, I've been working on increasing my resistance. You know, exercise, take my vitamins...” Tony grinned, but it was half-hearted. He knew Ducky was right, but it annoyed him to think of it.

“That may be true, but you will always be somewhat vulnerable. I realize you are an active young man, and you pride yourself on your athleticism, and your position on Jethro's team, but you can't be too careful, even so.”

“I know.” Tony met the ME's eyes. “I just didn't want to upset anyone.”

Ducky nodded. “An admirable desire, and one I have lectured Jethro frequently about.” He shook the stethoscope in Tony's direction. “The desire not to cause concern is one he shares, and frequently to the detriment of his own health.” A small smile creased the ME's face.

As if on cue, the door to Autopsy hissed open, and Gibbs strode in. “Report, Duck.”

Ducky blinked. “I haven't gotten results back from Abby yet, Jethro.”

Gibbs gestured impatiently. “I meant on DiNozzo.” He shot a glance in Tony's direction, and there was no mistaking the concern in the blue eyes. “Is it serious?”

Ducky shrugged. “It isn't life-threatening as of yet. However, I did detect signs of a bit of congestion in his lungs, and the coughing is somewhat worrisome. The violence of it, at least the small fit I observed, and the slight rasping in his breathing...They do not bode well.” He saw Gibbs' face and moved forward, though he turned his body slightly in a way that managed to suggest he was speaking to both Gibbs and Tony. “He isn't ill yet, Jethro. But it would be wise to be careful.”

Gibbs nodded. “What do we need to do?”

Ducky frowned. “Well, to be on the safe side, I'd recommend taking the rest of the day off. Plenty of rest, some decongestant, and a good solid meal or two. That should set you to rights, Anthony.”

Tony grimaced. “Taking the rest of the day off? But...we have a case...”

“We'll manage.” Gibbs nodded to him. “Do what Duck says. Go home.”

Tony swallowed. “Boss....”

“I'll square it with Vance. You just worry about taking care of yourself.”

Tony grimaced. “Well, I figured you could handle Vance, Boss. But the Probie, and Ziva....”

“I said I'll take care of it.” Gibbs took a step closer. “It's gonna be a whole lot more embarrassing and troublesome if you get sick and have to take a week off instead of a day, or if you wind up in a hospital, DiNozzo.”

Tony subsided. “Good point, Boss.”

“Indeed.” Ducky stepped over to his desk, and opened a drawer. A few seconds later, he was back, handing Tony a small slip of paper. “Here. Fill this prescription before you get home. And be sure to take some of the medicine as soon as you arrive. It may make you somewhat drowsy, but it will also help support your immune system, and clear any beginning congestion out of your lungs, my dear boy.”

Tony nodded, took the prescription sheet from Ducky. He turned to look at the silver-haired man standing nearby. “Boss...”

“With me, DiNozzo.” Gibbs gestured, then turned on his heel and left. Doctor and patient shared a mystified look, then Tony hurried after him.

Gibbs held the elevator for him, waited until they were riding up. Then he clicked the emergency stop. “We get to the office, you grab your stuff and head out like your ass is on fire. I'll take care of McGee and Ziva. You fill the thing Ducky's given you, and go straight home. Got it?”

“Yeah.” Tony swallowed. “That information you asked me to get you...”

“Is on your computer, and McGee has already transferred it to the screen.” Gibbs nodded. “We'll take it from here, Tony. You just do what you were told.”

“Yes Boss.” Tony nodded, and Gibbs reached across to flick the elevator back into motion.

Seconds later, they were on the floor. Gibbs strode out, his face set in a scowl. “DiNozzo. Move it!”

Tony didn't waste the opportunity. “On it, Boss!” He grabbed his bag and his coat as fast as he could scrape them together, then turned back to the elevator and was inside before either of his astonished team-mates could get a word in edgewise.

*****B*****

Hours later, Tony sprawled on his couch, frowning at the TV screen.

He'd done what Gibbs and Ducky had ordered him to. A quick stop at Walgreens had gotten his prescription filled. Unfortunately, the trip to his car, and the brief stop, had set off his chest again. He'd been coughing fairly hard by the time he managed to make his way into his apartment. It had hurt, so much so that he hadn't cared what the doctor had given him, as long as it would stop the coughing that seemed to be tearing his chest apart.

Ducky had actually given him two medicines. He would have been irritated, but they'd worked every bit as well as the doctor had suggested they would. After he'd taken them, the coughing had gradually eased off, dropping to an occasional hack when he moved too fast, or accidentally inhaled the wrong way. A cough drop had eased the ache in his throat, and the second medicine had helped soothe his chest. Sitting back on the couch, he could almost ignore the aching muscles of his back and abdomen.

Unfortunately, the medicine had, as Ducky predicted, made him slightly drowsy. He wasn't tired enough to sleep, and too restless and edgy to settle properly. He'd tried to sit down with his favorite Magnum PI episodes, then his other favorites, but he couldn't seem to focus properly, to get into the feel of things. His mind kept drifting off into tangents, most often to the case he'd left behind at work. He couldn't help wondering if they'd caught their bad guy, if there had been any unexpected developments. Wondering how the team had handled his absence, and what Gibbs might have told the two junior agents. He hoped, after covering for him, that Gibbs hadn't told them he was sick, but it was difficult to know.

A knock on his door startled him from his thoughts. With a groan, he lifted his head off the back of the couch, wondering if it was worth the effort to stand. Then the knock came again, a little more insistent. With another groan, he levered himself off the couch, and went to the door, yanking back the lock and throwing it haphazardly open.

Gibbs stood in the doorway, blue eyes studying him with focused intensity. Tony blinked, but the image of his boss in the door of his apartment didn't change. He blinked again. “Boss?”

“We aren't at work.” Gibbs studied his face. “You look like hell, Tony. Sit down before you fall.”

“Ummm...okay. Sure.” Tony grimaced, aware of how dazed and loopy he sounded. But he managed to follow Gibbs order with a reasonable amount of grace, though he more or less fell onto the couch, rather than sitting down on it. “So...umm...why are you here, Boss. Gibbs. Since we're not at work.”

Gibbs snorted. “Here checkin' on you. Ducky and Abby both threatened to have my hide if I didn't.” He studied Tony's face a moment longer, then frowned, looking around the living room. “You got a thermometer around here?”

Tony frowned. He did have one, from when he'd been sick, but he couldn't remember where he'd left it. He gestured. “Somewhere, I think. Not sure where.”

Gibbs frowned, then, before Tony had time to move, the older man was at his side. One hand held his shoulder firmly, to keep him still, and the other reached up to touch his forehead, pressing gently but firmly against his face.

Tony froze in surprise. “Ummm...pretty sure I don't have a fever, Boss.”

“I told you, we aren't at work any more.” Gibbs frowned thoughtfully, then pulled his hand away. “You feel okay, but you still look like hell.” He met Tony's eyes. “You eaten?”

Tony frowned. He vaguely recalled having a sandwich, maybe some leftover Chinese or something, but it had been a while. “Not for a few hours.”

“Fine. Stay here.” Gibbs turned, then vanished back out the door. Tony sat, staring stupidly at the closed panel, too surprised by recent events to do more than sit there.

He'd never expected Gibbs to come by after work. Hell, he'd been surprised enough when the team leader had sent him home. But...he thought about the gentle hand on his forehead, the rough concern in the older man's voice and eyes. It felt odd, having Gibbs here, caring for him. But it also felt good. He couldn't remember the last time someone had done something like this. Not counting the time Ziva had come to make dinner for him, as an apology for forgetting his invitation to her house-warming party. Or when he had been injured, working undercover as her 'husband'.

He was jolted out of his thoughts by the door swinging open again. Gibbs strode back into his apartment, moisture shining in his silver hair, a grocery sack in one hand. He watched as his mentor kicked the door closed, then set the bag down and roughly removed his trench-coat. “Ummm...you can throw it across that table, if you want.” He pointed to the table near the door that he usually used for his mail.

Gibbs nodded, threw the damp garment over the indicated furniture. Then, to Tony's surprise, he removed his suit jacket and tossed it after his other coat, leaving him in just his polo and t-shirt. He glanced around, then pointed. “Kitchen's that way?”

“Yeah.” Tony nodded, still mystified by the man's behavior. Gibbs didn't say anything further, just picked up the bag and vanished through the doorway.

Tony eyed his kitchen doorway, still surprised.

All of the team had unspoken rules about privacy. And equally unspoken rules about the right of their team-mates to invade the house if they thought a check or an intervention was required. He'd done it himself, and more than once. But...Gibbs was different. Gibbs didn't usually barge in.

Usually, he simply let it be known that his door was open, and he was available. If he thought the situation called for it, he might 'suggest' in that father/authority figure tone of his, that the team member in question pay him a visit. Tony had taken more than a few such 'suggestions' in their years together. Usually, Gibbs supplied dinner, alcohol if he deemed necessary, and a night on the couch, or down in the basement sanding. It was always rather soothing, and helpful. But Tony couldn't remember Gibbs ever having come over to his apartment. At least, not like this. When he'd had the plague, he'd been startled by the knocker a few times, and gotten to the door to find food in the doorway, but no one there. He always thought it had been Kate. Or maybe even Abby or McGee.

A rhythmic, dull thumping came from his kitchen. Curious, Tony rose from his seat and stumbled his way across, the drugs in his system making him slightly clumsier than usual. He reached the doorway and stopped there, leaning against the frame as he watched the scene before him.

Gibbs was at his counter. A pot was sitting on the stove, a vast array of foods and such laid out haphazardly around him. He'd found the cutting board and knives Abby had given him for Christmas one year, and was methodically slicing meat and various vegetables into bite sized chunks.

Tony watched with growing bemusement. Gibbs had fixed him dinner before, but usually something simple and grilled. Steak and potatoes. Roast chicken. Pork chops. This didn't look like anything he'd seen the older man make before. He cleared his throat. “So...what are you doing?”

“Makin' dinner.” Gibbs shot him one of his exasperated looks. One of the 'come on, it's obvious' looks.

Tony swallowed. “Yeah, I can see. I was just wondering, what exactly it was.” He gestured vaguely at the spread of ingredients. “Doesn't quite look like our usual fare.”

“Makin' soup this time. Family recipe.” Gibbs turned back to the cutting board.

Tony blinked. “You know, I'm not sure I have the ingredients for soup...I'm kinda more of a steak and potatoes type...”

Gibbs turned back to him with another exasperated half-scowl. “I know that, DiNozzo. That's why I brought my own.” The hand holding the knife jabbed at the grocery sack he'd carried in, now empty and lying on it's side.

“Oh. Yeah. Guess that would be kind of obvious.” Tony flushed, feeling somewhat embarrassed.

“You think?” Gibbs cocked an eyebrow, then pointed back through the doorway. “You still look like hell. Go sit down until it's ready. Take a nap, or watch TV or something.”

Tony blinked. “Sure you don't want me to help out?”

Gibbs scowled. “The only thing I want you doing is planting your butt back on that couch.” There was no mistaking his tone. Forceful, insistent.

Tony had no doubt that if he didn't head back to the living room, Gibbs was prepared to drag him back and knock him into the couch himself. He wasn't entirely sure his boss would put down the knife for the operation either. He nodded. “Got it. Sitting back down now, Boss.” he caught the upraised eyebrow and amended the statement. “Gibbs. Jethro.” He frowned. “You know, I'm never sure which you prefer when you aren't at work.”

“Whatever, Tony. Just go sit.” Gibbs gestured again, this time with a note of finality that indicated a last warning before he physically hauled the younger man off his feet.

“Yeah. I'm going.” Tony turned, and made his way back to the couch, collapsing into it with a sigh. He leaned back, resting his head against the back, thinking.

He woke a little while later to the realization that he'd been dozing. The rhythmic sounds from his kitchen had ceased, but when he sniffed, there was a savory smell of meat, vegetables and spices emanating from that direction. The scents made his stomach growl and his mouth water. He swallowed.

As if summoned, Gibbs appeared at the doorway. “You awake?”

“Yeah.” Tony blinked. “How'd you know...”

“Heard you snorin' from in there.” A faint grin quirked one corner of the stern mouth, taking several years off the man's face. “You hungry?”

Tony swallowed again. “Starving.” He gave Gibbs his best wistful look. “Please tell me that's almost ready. And that it tastes half as good as it smells.”

The half smile took over the rest of Gibbs' expression, morphing into a full one. “It tastes better, Tony. And yeah, it's ready.” Gibbs frowned. “What do you have to drink?”

“Water. Soda. A little beer.” Tony considered. “I'll take water if you...”

“I'll get it. Stay put.” Gibbs vanished back into the kitchen. He returned a few minutes later cradling a steaming bowl in one hand, and a cup full of water in the other. “Here.” He set both on Tony's end table, pulled a spoon out of his back pocket and stuck it in, then returned to the kitchen. Moments later he returned, carrying another set of dishes. He settled into the chair nearby, dropped the cup onto the table, and gestured with his chin to the bowl by Tony's elbow. “Go ahead. Eat.”

Tony nodded, and picked up his bowl, looking at the contents. Dark, savory broth, filled with meat, potatoes, carrots, celery, and onion. He thought he caught a hint of garlic and tomato in the bowl, though nothing overt. The combination nearly had drool dripping off his chin. He dipped a spoonful out, then blew on it a few times to reduce the heat, and put it in his mouth.

Flavors exploded on his tongue, a rich blend of herbs, spices and ingredients. Definitely garlic, and the meat had been seasoned before it had been thrown in. A touch of salt, and pepper, and a few others. The potato chunk he caught on the tip of the spoon was just soft enough to be easy to chew, not too much. He couldn't help the small groan of satisfaction that escaped him as he savored the taste. He chewed, focused on enjoying it as long as he could, then swallowed. “Wow. This is great.”

Gibbs smirked over his own spoonful. “Told ya.”

“Yeah. But this is...this is awesome.” Tony stirred the broth, took another bite. “I mean, the mix of flavors and everything...” He paused for another spoonful, swallowed again. “How come you never made this before?”

“Takes a lot of time. Besides...I save this for special occasions.” The smile didn't disappear, but it gentled, changed into something different. Kind, a little sad, with an edge of shy sweetness and nostalgia that Tony rarely, if ever, saw Gibbs indulge in. “This just seemed like the right time.”

Tony nodded, and took another bite. He was aware, from that gentle, sad smile, that he was treading on emotional ground. It was unusual to see Gibbs so open, and he knew better than to push too hard. There were memories and wounds there, that he tried not to brush too hard. Despite his tendency to tease the older man sometimes about his three failed marriages, he didn't want to cause Gibbs pain.

There was silence between them, both men lost in thought as they finished their soup. Finally, Tony scrapped the last of the rich broth from his bowl. He felt worlds better than he had before Gibbs had knocked on his door. “Wow. That really is something, Gibbs.” He looked at the bowl, then at the man beside him. “Family recipe, huh? Jackson teach you how to make that?”

“Nope.” Gibbs shook his head, scraping the last of his own broth out. His eyes were looking into the distance as he swallowed. When he spoke, his voice was soft. “Shannon did.”

Tony swallowed. “Oh. When you said old family recipe, I just thought....”

“Yeah. I know. You're right. But I wasn't much for cooking as a kid.” Gibbs was looking into the distance still, eyes dark and meditative, the faint echo of that sad, nostalgic smile still hovering about his mouth. “Jackson taught Shannon the recipe when we got engaged. He loved having a daughter-in-law.” He paused, and Tony saw his mentor swallow, the trace of sadness stronger on those stern features. “Shannon taught me when she was pregnant with Kelly. She loved it, but she didn't always feel up to making it herself.” He swallowed again. “Kelly used to ask me to make it for her, when I came home from an assignment. It was special to her.”

Tony swallowed against the sudden, painful lump in his throat, and tried to remind himself to breathe. It was rare for Gibbs to reveal such a personal memory. He wanted, desperately, not to say the wrong thing. He nodded, pretending to scrape the last drops out of his bowl. “Huh. Well, I'm really impressed you still remember the recipe. I mean...I'm guessing it's been, what? Years?”

“Yeah. But I didn't remember.” Gibbs pulled a piece of paper from his polo shirt pocket. “Brought a copy, so I could get everything when I went shopping.”

“Nice.” Tony smiled. “Any chance I could get a copy? I mean, cause this is really good, and I might owe someone dinner or something...”

Gibbs handed him the paper without a word. He got the feeling his mentor was only half there, the rest of his mind drifting in memories of his beloved girls. Tony took the paper gently, and read through it.

Beef and pork, which he'd noticed. Onions and peppers and carrots, and potatoes. He smiled to see he'd been right about the garlic. There was also sage, and a little thyme. He read down the list, then paused, startled, at the last line. It had been asterisked, clearly marked as important.

_*Add a healthy dash of love._

Tony blinked, then looked closer at the handwriting. It wasn't Gibbs'. This was a more feminine, gentler handwriting. He swallowed hard, feeling a lump in his throat at the realization of whose hands had really written this down. Shannon.

The realization silenced the dozens of smart remarks that had formed when Gibbs handed him the paper. He felt questions crowding in his mind, questions about Shannon, about Kelly, about life with them. He knew there was every chance, in this open, fragile moment, that Gibbs would answer him, and honestly. They were both relaxed, and a glance at his mentor's face revealed that the masks had dropped away, revealing the quiet, somber, but gentle man beneath the gruff 'bastard' exterior.

The silence between them was becoming heavy, he had to say something before the words and the moment escaped. He swallowed back the lump in his throat, and reached for something that wasn't too juvenile, insensitive, or probing. “Looks pretty complicated. You really follow this to the letter?” He held up the paper.

Gibbs blinked back to the moment at his first words, and raised an eyebrow at his question, a faint smile playing about his mouth. His Gibbs smile. The one he wore when he was relaxed, contented. One of Abby's favorites, topped only by what she called his 'Happy Papa Bear' smile, the ear to ear grin that accompanied laughter, or those rare moments of joy, when everything seemed right with his world. “Well yeah, Tony. Wouldn't be as good otherwise.”

Tony relaxed, knowing he'd managed to move them both away from the dangerous, potentially painful zone, while still maintaining the relaxed mood. “Thought so.” He could feel the implications in the back of his mind, the understanding of what it meant, that Gibbs had made him soup. So much more than simply an old recipe he'd dug out of the back of a cabinet.

It was memories, and family, and love and concern. Something special, for celebrations, or for healing. For taking care of the people you cared about when they were sick, or hurt, and needed something precious to lift their spirits. It was a gift, precious beyond believing.

He looked back at the card, thinking. Thinking of the small, odd, but wonderful group of people they'd managed to gather around themselves over the past few years. Well, to be fair, Gibbs had gathered them, but that made it no less important. “You know, I'm not very good with recipes.” He looked up, met Gibbs' quizzical stare with a grin. “I always mess up the tiniest things. So...if you're gonna pass this on to me, you're probably gonna have to teach me how to make it. You know...sort of a hands on demonstration.”

Gibbs took a swallow of water, still eying him with that quizzical, thoughtful stare. “Told you, I only make this for special occasions.”

“Yeah, well...there's lots of special occasions, Boss.” Tony gave him his best innocent stare as Gibbs leveled a faint glare at him for the 'boss'. He cocked his head thoughtfully. “You know, I think Abby's birthday is coming up soon. Or is it Ducky's? I can never remember which comes first.” He shrugged, deliberately nonchalant, though he didn't feel quite as at ease as he pretended. “Anyway, I bet they'd both love a taste of the famous Gibbs home cooking.”

Gibbs blinked at him. “It's Abby's birthday. And I've made 'em both steak. And potatoes.”

“Yeah. And you make great steak and potatoes. But this...this is almost too awesome not to share. He gave Gibbs a mock wide-eyed stare. “Unless of course, this is one of those deeply guarded, reveal it and somebody dies kind of secret recipes. I had an uncle like that, once.” He tilted his head back, thinking. “Had this whole file box of Italian recipes that he would never let anyone see.”

Gibbs took a swallow of water, a thoughtful frown creasing his face. “Okay.”

Tony froze. “What's okay?”

Gibbs snorted. “Okay. As in 'okay, you can help me make this for Abby for her birthday dinner'.” Gibbs smiled. “I always take her out for her birthday.” He took another drink. “But you're right. She'd love this.”

Tony made a serious effort to swallow his water instead of choking on it. He hadn't really expected Gibbs to yield so easily. He'd been forming delicate plans to cajole the other man into sharing his talents.

Gibbs took another drink. “Might even make a party out of it.”

That did cause him to choke. He swallowed the wrong way, gasped, and set down the glass as the coughing shook his frame.

Gibbs was beside him in an instant, supportive. “Breathe, Tony. You need me to get your medicine?”

Tony shook his head. “Nope.” He took a deep breath. “We're good.” He shook his head again as Gibbs settled down into his chair again, watching with concerned blue eyes. “I'm fine. Really. Just you...actually mentioning the word 'party'.” He grinned, putting a trace of his usual smart-aleck look into it. “Wasn't sure you knew what a party was.” He shrugged. “You don't even usually do Christmas parties.”

“I know that. But Abby's turning 35 this year. Thought I might do something a little special.”

Tony blinked. “Abby's 35? huh. She doesn't really look that old at all. Sure doesn't act it.” he shrugged. “Well, you know...a girl like Abby doesn't ever really age. I think they have some sort of secret weapon against the process.” He frowned. “Wonder what it is. Caf-Pow? Energy? Something about the way she does her make-up?”

Gibbs smiled. “Exuberance.” Tony blinked and the older man shrugged. “Damn hard to age if you only live in the 'now'.”

“Got a point.” Tony blinked. “So...this birthday party you might be thinking of arranging...your place?”

“Yeah. Not many other choices.” Gibbs shrugged. “Have to re-arrange some furniture, but I can manage.”

“Sure thing. That's what? Two weeks?” Tony frowned, calculating up dates.

“Yep.” Gibbs drank the last of his water, then rose from the chair, stretching a little. “You better be healthy by then. This was your idea, and I'm not doin' it alone.”

Tony blinked. “Yeah, but...you were the one who mentioned...” He stopped as Gibbs gave him one of those infamous, slightly amused and slightly exasperated looks. “Got it. Fully recovered and ready to help out with cooking and redecorating.”

“Good.” Gibbs stretched again, then picked up both their bowls and his cup. “Leftovers'll be on the stove whenever you want 'em. Just heat for a few minutes, or in the microwave for a minute or so.”

“Thanks.” He knew the reheated soup wouldn't be as good as the first time, but even that sounded infinitely better than burritos, chinese take-out, or sandwiches. He wasn't even sure he could put pizza ahead of it.

Gibbs nodded, and disappeared into the kitchen. There was clanking for a few minutes, then he reappeared. “You set?”

“Sure.” Tony nodded. “So...see you at work...Monday?”

“Yeah.” Gibbs turned, and slung his suit jacket over his shoulders, then began to pull his overcoat on. “You call though, if you need more time.”

“Sure thing.” Tony nodded. He he already knew he'd be okay by Monday. Despite his brush with the plague, he had a solid immune system, and between it and Ducky's medication, he'd be fine.

Gibbs gave him one more long look. He seemed to be biting back words, probably concerned queries or admonitions. Finally, he spoke. “Don't forget to take your meds, DiNozzo. I want you well.” A small smile cracked the stern facade. “And keep breathing.” The grin widened, and then Gibbs turned and vanished out the door.

Tony smiled, relieved at the slight parting shot. “On it, Boss.” He smiled again, then leaned back into the comfort of his couch. Then he switched on his TV, and let the auto-loader set up his favorite disc of Magnum PI. There were few things quite as excellent as watching his favorites during recovery.

And he did have orders to follow, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> I was sick, I was watching NCIS...and this wrote itself.


End file.
